


Spoils of War

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s02e22 Two Cathedrals, F/M, Humor, Pre-Episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-30
Updated: 2001-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: A fluffy post-ep forTwo Cathedralsincludes the answers to a couple of questions.





	Spoils of War

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

 

Title: Spoils of War  
Author: Bramble  
Rating: PG  
Category: J/D  
Summary: A fluffy post-ep for 2 Cathedrals includes  
the answers to a couple of questions.  
Spoilers: 2 Cathedrals and a small one for the  
Leadership Breakfast.  
Disclaimers: Aaron Sorkin still owns them all.

***

"But I like your place better."

"Josh..."

"Donna, your place is fluffier."

"Fluffier?" I ask. Damn, I knew I should have  
monitored his alcohol intake at the bar more closely.

"Yes."

Josh starts to crave 'fluffy' things when he isn't  
feeling overly optimistic about his disposition.

Uh-oh.

"Are you going to throw up?"

"No," he replies queasily.

"Are you lying?"

"Maybe."

I hear the cab driver make a disgruntled noise and I  
think we're suddenly going a bit faster.

Josh is kind of swaying but he has a happy, oblivious  
grin on his face. I'd almost call him content looking.

What the hell, he is pretty content looking right now.

Damn it -- I should have done that last shot with CJ,  
at least then I'd be closer to the place he is right  
now. I mean I'm so much better than I was earlier but  
I'm not sure I'd call my mood content.

Cautiously pleased, perhaps.

The cab driver picks this exact moment to come to a  
sudden stop outside of my apartment -- a stop which  
makes Josh fall forward and almost end up on the  
floor.

"Joshua, give me your wallet."

"Okay," he says as he throws it over at me.

Hmmmm... he is really drunk.

I pay the driver and proceed to lug my inebriated,  
singing boss out of the cab.

Wait...singing?

I stop walking and listen to the sounds coming from  
Josh.

"Through these fields of destruction,  
Baptism of fire,  
I've witnessed your suffering,  
As the battles raged higher,  
And though they did hurt me so bad,  
In the fear and alarm,  
You did not desert me,  
My brothers in arms."

"Josh?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you singing?"

"I dunno...I think I'm drunk."

We climb up the steps while I let us in to the  
security door. Okay, I was doing the climbing, he was  
doing the not falling.

It's still storming hard and we both got soaked  
getting from the cab to my building Thankfully Josh is  
too drunk to care much and I'm not too far behind him.

I still wish I would've done that last shot though.

"What are you singing?"

"A Dire Straits song -- Brothers in Arms."

"Why?"

"It's been in my head since we went to the thing --  
Toby was humming it."

"Okay."

"Then Sam started, I'm not sure Leo knows how the song  
goes but he started humming along too. It was kind of  
neat."

"So you all walked into the briefing humming Dire  
Straits?"

"Yes. It was really very manly, it's a good thing you  
and Margaret arrived separately and CJ too for that  
matter. It was a guy thing."

"Okay," I say, unlocking my apartment door and pushing  
him inside.

"Because the song is 'Brothers in Arms' not, you know,  
'Brothers and Sisters in Arms' or 'Brothers and the  
Girls They Know in Arms'..."

I give him a look before running to the bathroom for  
some dry towels.

Josh keeps talking.

"I mean umm, 'Brothers and the Very Capable,  
Beautiful, Smart, Important Women in Arms Equally'.  
Anyway, that's not the title."

"Right, that'd be a weird song title," I say, throwing  
a big red beach towel at his head. He misses it and  
the towel hits him in the face, nearly knocking him  
over.

Oops.

He scowls at me briefly before he starts drying off.

"Exactly my point, Donnatello."

"Donnatella," I correct.

"Right-o," he gives me a little finger point before  
falling over into his friend, Mr. Wall as he tries to  
take his shoes off.

"Josh, we need to get you to bed."

"Donna, I'm not sure, I mean, you should have told me  
your intentions before I had that last beer  
because..."

"Josh," I stop to glare at him.

"Yes?"

"Do you really think tonight is the time for this? I  
mean, my god, we went to a funeral, there was the  
press conference, a tropical storm..."

He interrupts me. "What would you have me do, Donna?  
Cry? Have a freakish PTSD thing?"

"No, of course not, I..."

"Because I could probably do both of those things but  
I'm choosing to just enjoy my shitfacedness."

"Shitfacedness?"

"Yeah," he states defiantly.

"Okay."

I pull him over to the couch and futilely lay our  
towels on the cushions first, before I push him down  
and then sit next to him.

"What time do we have to be in tomorrow?" I ask,  
knowing what he's going to say.

"Early, there's so much to do." he starts happily.

He loves this. The battle, the strategizing. Even  
drunk, I can see that the wheels are already turning.

"Yeah," I agree, suddenly finding myself overtaken  
with a giddy optimism I wouldn't have thought possible  
a mere five hours ago or even five minutes ago.

Maybe I just didn't give the alcohol enough time to  
work through my system.

Or maybe, everything really will be okay.

"Donna?"

His tone is more serious than before and he turns his  
head to look directly at me.

"What?"

"You can cry if you want," he pats my hand in what I'm  
sure he thinks is a reassuring manner.

"I don't want to cry anymore, Josh."

"Okay, I'm just saying that I wouldn't mind if you  
did."

"Do you want me to cry?"

"Not if you don't want or have to, I'm just saying  
that..."

"You wouldn't mind."

"Yeah," he agrees.

"Okay."

"Heyyyy," he looks around the apartment. "Where are  
the evil ones?"

"They're with my roommate at a retreat in Wyoming."

"Do I want you to explain this to me?" He asks,  
settling back against me so that his head is on my  
shoulder.

"Probably not, but I feel that you would be strangely  
disappointed if I didn't," I say with a smile.  
"There's a 'My Cats and Me' retreat that she heard  
about in her yoga class -- it's in Cheyenne. You sit  
around and bond with your cats..."

"Okay," he stops me. "I really don't need anymore info  
on your roommate's feline fruitcake retreat."

"You sure?"

He nods against me in response.

"You know, you can cry if you want to, Josh."

"I don't want to anymore either," he says quietly.

"Yeah," I respond as he reaches for my hand and gives  
me a small squeeze.

We sit there for a few minutes listening to the cars  
and the rain outside on the street. I'm always  
surprised at the number of people out driving around  
late at night. You'd think people would be asleep.  
Then again, I'm awake listening to them so what do I  
know.

"Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna watch TV?"

I grab the remote and click it on.

"Want to see if they're rerunning the press  
conference?"

"Yeah," I can hear the smile in his voice even if I  
can't see it.

President Bartlet's face greets us on CNN.

"Turn it up, I like this part," Josh says, trying to  
grab the remote from my hands.

"Okay, okay, I've got it," I push his hands away  
playfully as I hit the volume.

"Sandy," the President calls from behind the podium.

"Mr. President, can you tell us right now if you'll be  
seeking a second term?"

There's a huge flash of lightening followed by a roar  
of thunder. I swear my windows rattle from the noise.  
I instinctively snuggle a bit closer to Josh and wrap  
my arm around him.

"I'm sorry, Sandy, there was a bit of noise there,  
could you repeat the question?"

Josh lifts his head up. "He did that on purpose to  
freak us out."

I chuckle beside him as I turn the volume up even  
louder.

"...tell us right now if you'll be seeking a second  
term?"

Before we can hear those amazing words again, we're  
sitting in complete darkness and President Bartlet is  
no longer on the television in front of us.

It's not like I can even see the television in front  
of us.

"Oh, that's funny," Josh mutters beside me.

"I'd be really upset if I didn't already know what he  
said."

Josh laughs, as I get up and stumble around to open  
the drapes and let a little light in.

"Should I even bother with candles?"

"Donna, I told you, I'm not sure I can..."

"Josh."

"No, it's late," he stops talking to pat the couch  
next to him. "C'mere..."

"But I thought you couldn't..."

"Donna!"

I smile as I saunter back over and plop down beside  
him. This time he maneuvers me so that my head is on  
his shoulder.

"Do the Flashdance thing I like."

"Joshua," I pause to sigh. "I am so sorry I did that  
before."

"Yeah, but you did and now you know how much I like  
it. Please?"

"Josh, you don't think this is a little  
inappropriate?"

"Donna, I'm at your place, we've been drinking, and  
you keep alternating between trying to get me to cry  
and trying to get me to do you..."

"Josh! I can assure you that the second part is just a  
figment of your shitfacedness," I giggle.

"Is it?" He asks softly, as he suddenly seems very  
serious and focused. I lift my head to look at him  
questioningly.

I decide now isn't the best time to answer that  
question.

At least not in the traditional sense.

I reach down and untuck my shirt so I can get my hands  
up under my shirt and unhook my bra. I slip it off one  
shoulder and then pull the whole thing out through the  
other arm hole.

I look at his awed expression and hand the black lace  
undergarment to him like a prize.

At least he doesn't clap this time.

"Ahhh, the spoils of war are mine," he replies with a  
grin.

"Please tell me you don't want bagels now."

He smiles as he fondles my underwear in a familiar  
way.

"So, is this your answer?" He smirks.

"I'm sorry Josh, there was a bit of noise there, could  
you repeat the question."

He grunts happily as he brings my bra up to his nose  
and sniffs it. "I will but not right now."

"Okay."

I get up to gather some blankets for him.

When I get back he's in his boxers and dress shirt,  
lying stretched out on the couch, with my black lace,  
Victoria's Secret item still in his hands.

The big lug is even snoring.

I almost grab it from him but decide not to, just  
covering him up with some blankets and lifting his  
head gently to sneak a pillow underneath.

I'll just let him wake up tomorrow still holding on to  
my bra -- you know, just to freak him out.

That is, unless he actually remembers the question.

***

The End.

  


End file.
